


Routine

by DaniGetYourGun (SharkbaitHooHaHa)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-29 00:30:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkbaitHooHaHa/pseuds/DaniGetYourGun
Summary: Aziraphale is grumpy when he doesn't get his good morning kiss.





	Routine

Crowley blinked at Aziraphale, unsure if he’d heard the angel correctly. “What?”

Aziraphale, huffed, his cheeks turning an impossibly deeper shade of pink and repeated himself. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“Angel,” Crowley couldn’t keep the teasing lilt out of his voice. “Are you pouting?”

“No! It’s just…” Aziraphale spluttered briefly before recovering. “You’re supposed to give me a ‘good morning’ kiss!”

Oh, yes, Aziraphale, bless– damn– _something_ him, was, indeed, pouting.

The thing was, it had become part of their routine. Aziraphale would get up (or as the case usually was, leave his library) at seven, and begin puttering around the small kitchen of their cottage to make himself a cup of tea. Crowley, roused by the clinking of dishware, would head out to the garden where he would spend the next hour scaring the flowers into submission.

At a quarter 'til eight, Aziraphale would begin cooking breakfast, and then, once he was satisfied the plants would behave themselves, Crowley would come back inside and drop the morning paper next to Aziraphale’s place at the table.

Finally, every morning without fail, Crowley would slink up behind the angel, who would pretend to grumble at the interruption before turning his head to give the demon a soft peck on the lips. It was a routine that Aziraphale found he quite liked, which was why he was feeling a little petulant when, after turning his head, he did not get his good morning kiss.

Instead, he found Crowley carefully placing a small potted flower on the table (“no, I’m not giving it a second chance, it’s dead to me, Angel, I just thought its corpse would brighten the room”) which would have been well and good and all, except now they had finished breakfast and Aziraphale still had not gotten his kiss.

And the smug, satisfied way Crowley was smiling at him was not improving his mood much, either. But, at least it seemed that the demon was working to remedy the situation as he leaned forward.

“You know,” he said coyly, ghosting his lips over Aziraphale’s, before deliberately moving away to drop a kiss at the angel’s hairline. “If you…” His left cheek. “Wanted…” The right. “A kiss…” His nose. “You only…” His eyebrow? “Had to…” And even, apparently, his ear. “Ask–mmph!”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to look smug as he grabbed Crowley’s face between his hands and pressed their lips together hard enough that the demon let out an undignified squeak in surprise.

“…Good morning.”


End file.
